


i'm crying but my dick's still hard

by Milkynubs



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying After Sex, Demisexual Sans, Emotional Sex, Heartbreak, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Pity Sex, Reader-Insert, Temporarily Unrequited Love, demiromantic reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:00:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milkynubs/pseuds/Milkynubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've heard of Sexual Frustration, now get ready for Romantic Torment!<br/>He just wants to love you, but for whatever reason, you won't allow it.</p><p>Reader does not have a defined sex or gender.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Oh.

**Author's Note:**

> at first I was going to have reader straight up not be interested in him but it hurt too much I can't do unhappy endings so instead reader is hesitant/is afraid/needs time
> 
> you better love me for that

Monsters have been on the surface for six years; that's a new record. The previous timeline was reset after about four. The one before that, barely a year. You might think it's nice that each time seems to last a little longer, but for Sans, it's hell. Spending the first couple years doing absolutely nothing and meeting absolutely no one because doing so would be pointless, then finally easing up and allowing himself to love and be loved, only to have it all but erased when his guard is down. Perhaps it was naive to think the resets would stop upon reaching the surface. They never did figure out exactly what the anomaly was, after all.

The previous timeline is the one where he met you. You'd met about two years in, and he fell in love with you the day before he woke up again in his home in Snowdin. _Impeccable_ timing.

But he finally had something to work for; he couldn't figure out why he tried, since it was just proven to him that the resets aren't over, but he had to see you again. He needed to see that you're real, and alive, and _you,_ and hear your voice, and see your smile...

He'd been so anxious to meet you again. He'd rushed Frisk along their journey with little subtlety. Your first meeting had been casual, with small talk and jokes, but this time around, wonder was written all over his face when he saw you. He knew he would see you again, because that was the day you'd first met, but he was still frozen in disbelief. He flirted with you shamelessly, and it came as a surprise to everyone he knew, because even though it's known Sans loves the opportunity for a shitty pickup line, he had never used them in earnest.

Eventually you would return his flirtatious remarks. He thought he had read the signs right. He even waited until the day of the last reset, in case it would have been too fast for you.

“ya like raisins?”

You smirked, having an idea of what was to come. “They're okay.”

“well how 'bout a date?” He winked and you snorted.

“C'mon, I've heard that one before.”

“so? it's a pun and it gets to the point.”

“Mm, true.”

You stared into space and seemed lost in thought. Not a good sign.

“...well?”

“Hold on, I'm trying to think of one.”

“...one what?”

“A pun, you dingus. Be patient with me, I'm not a comedian.”

You thought he was trying to trade puns. Heh. He almost rolled with it, backed out, but he'd decided against it.

“i wasn't kidding.”

Silence.

“Oh.”

Oh?

“oh?” You were avoiding his gaze, which may have been good, because he probably looked completely disheartened.

“...Were you always serious when you flirted with me?”

“...yes.”

“...Oh.”

Oh???

Silence again.

“...I thought we were joking.”

“...oh.”

...

“...Sorry, I don't... I can't.”

He lounged in his seat and closed his eyes to hide his hurt. “naw, forgeddaboudit.”

It was awkward, but Sans managed to convince himself you were just surprised and needed to think, and you both pretended it didn't happen. You avoided him for a few days at first, but eventually you were back to normal.

Until he tried again months later.

“so, uh, are you still not down for a date?” You had been friendly like usual since the last time, joking and poking fun and occasionally talking about something more personal, but bringing this topic up brought a noticeable change that had Sans feeling immediate regret.

“No. Sorry.” You spoke quickly and bluntly while staring at nothing.

Ouch.

“hey, no problem.” But it kind of was a problem, so he couldn't stop himself from talking a little more than he wanted to. “i just...”

“... You just?” You'd brought your gaze back to him, but your demeanor seemed cold.

“i mean. i'm wondering... why? like, i know you don't need a reason to turn me down, but like... is it me?”

You'd looked away again and took a while to respond. “Just don't want to.”

Ouch again.

“...ah. ok.”

But he still couldn't help but try, because he's loved you for _four years_.

But you didn't respond to his flirty jokes with your own anymore, and with each one he made, your laughter became more and more obviously forced, so he stopped.

It hurt so bad. Did the thought of a romantic relationship with him really perturb you so much? No, not even that, the thought of him _having feelings for you_ was apparently so appalling to you that you couldn't look at him for days after he made a _joke_. Evidently, he disgusted you to such a degree that you looked like you wanted to run from the room when you caught him looking at you with what you must have thought was a _little_ too much affection. His being in love with you was so _revolting_ that you couldn't even _try_ to hide your discomfort when he asked you for a simple date. Clearly you pitied him enough to be his friend and spend time with him, but to be seen on a _date_ with _Sans_? That would surely humiliate you, right?

Sans didn't consider himself a crier, but these thoughts had him weeping himself to sleep more often than not, and drunkenly wailing at Grillby's frequently enough that Grillbz won't serve him alcohol anymore. He once broke down at the kitchen table when your name was mentioned during dinner. He cried more in the two years between then and now than he ever did in his entire life.

Someone must have told you this recently, because when he saw you a week ago, you appeared guilt-ridden whenever you looked his way. It made him uncomfortable.

When you were both alone, you had approached him hesitantly, sat down next to him and seemed to struggle for words for a while. He waited.

“This is going to be really weird, okay?” That was how you began. If Sans had a gut, it would have been churning, but he had too much curiosity, and too much hope, so after a pause, he said “okay.” You sighed.

“I'm not comfortable with dating, but... I can do sex. Don't have to. Just offering.” In the middle of talking, your sentences got shorter and your tone became dull, and it reminded him of the times you'd rejected him. It stung too much for him to be surprised by your offer.

“...why?” The way you spoke sounded unwilling, so of course he was going to ask questions.

“Thought maybe it'd help?” You shrugged, looking down. His chest hurt with an unstable mix of emotions, but he kept himself together.

“you don't seem like you want to.”

“If you do, I'd like it. I... like sex.” You seemed a little ashamed, but sincere.

If this is as intimate as he could get with you, and you consented to it, how could he pass up the chance?

* * *

 You don't hesitate to strip once the door is closed and the lights are off. The moonlight shining through the window glows beautifully on your skin as you climb onto the bed. His eyes are half-lidded as he takes in your naked form, lying in bed, awaiting him. Awaiting _him_. He exhales a shuddery breath and slides off his jacket before joining you, looming above you. You're sprawled, waiting for him to have his way with you (which, truthfully, was an arousing thought to both of you), but he takes his time. He wants this moment to last forever; you're exposed to him, your posture is relaxed, you're looking at him with anticipation and licking your lips when your gaze travels down to the needy glowing tent in his shorts. Good, it's so good, the way you're viewing him as someone who's going to give you pleasure, the way you're looking at his arousal like you're visualizing tearing his clothes off, the way you're regarding him with _attraction_ and not disgust. This is going to be over when he comes, so he doesn't want to come, he'll give up orgasms if it means he can stay like this with you forever. But this isn't just about what he wants; you're waiting for him to fuck you, so he's going to give it to you.

His hand hovers over you while he looks to you for consent, and he gently places it on your belly as soon as you nod your approval. You're so soft, so fleshy, he's _touching_ you, touching your naked body on display for _him_ , his other hand joins in and he loses himself in lovingly tracing all of your features and lightly squeezing your squishier areas, committing your body to memory. He doesn't know if it's pleasurable for you at all, but you don't object. He leans over to flick his tongue against the side of your neck, and you bring an arm up to pull him closer, encouraging him. He obliges with a languid lick, taking the time to find your pulse. His breath hitches when you mewl quietly, the sound stimulating his cock. Your other arm wraps around him and impatiently pulls his body against yours, your chests touching, his bulge pressing against your belly and your legs wrapping around his hips. His cock twitches against you and you moan with want. No, not yet, he's not done yet. It takes all of his self-control, but he props his body back up.

“just a little longer, sweetheart,” he murmurs lowly before crawling back to familiarize himself with your lower body. You spread your legs eagerly and rest them on his shoulders. You're beautiful. The sight and the smell of you are intoxicating to him; he's drunk on his love and his lust. He licks, sucks, nibbles and kisses your thighs before pleasuring you with his tongue. He teases you with featherlight licks, and flicks the tip of his tongue against the sensitive spots he finds. He increases his pressure so that he can taste you properly, delighting in the sounds you make and lapping up your fluids, before wetting two phalanges with his slimy saliva and bringing them to your entrance. He eases one into you carefully, amazed at the warmth and tightness as he slowly pistons in and out of you, then inserts the other when you're slick enough. He makes sure to stretch you to prepare for something larger, though he's too occupied with his wonder for how responsive your body is to rush.

“Please fuck me,” you suddenly whimper, and he wishes he could have recorded that, because he could probably get off on the longing in your voice alone. His sudden need to be inside you is palpable as he stretches you a final time before removing his fingers and pulling off his shorts.

“if you want to stop, we can,” he assures you as he positions himself.

“No, please,” your voice is pleading. “I want this.”

At that, he wastes no time plunging in, forgetting the importance of starting slow, and you yelp when he hilts. He's terrified by his mistake, but you interrupt him in the middle of asking if you're okay.

“Just give me a minute.” You take a moment to adjust, but Sans very obviously doesn't mind waiting. He focuses on how incredible you feel squeezing around him, staring at the delicious sight of his cock fully sheathed inside of you. It feels so right. He starts a gentle pace as soon as you give him the O.K.

The feeling of sliding in and out of the most intimate area of your body is better than he ever imagined. He can't help but throw his skull back as he sighs shakily. He scans your face for an inkling of what you're feeling, and is pleased to find your eyes shut in obvious bliss. You're enjoying this too, you _like_ the feeling of his cock moving inside of you, it turns Sans on so much that he begins thrusting with more fervor, pulling some groans from you.

It isn't long until you're both moaning – borderline _screaming_ – sweaty messes, with Sans humping you heatedly and his cock pulsing hard and your muscles clenching around him. In such a vulnerable state, he can peer into your soul. He can see how much you love this, see that you want more, see proof that the sounds you're making aren't forced. But he can also see that this isn't as loving and intimate to you as it is to him. You either don't feel or don't reciprocate his adoration. He's making love to you, trying to prove how absolutely smitten he is with you by making you moan and swear and beg, filling the room with the lewd slapping of bone against sweaty skin as he gyrates his hips and repeatedly thrusts the magical manifestation of his desire inside of you; but your soul reveals that this is no more intimate to you than a massage. You likely think you're “scratching each other's backs,” so to speak, by letting him vent what you believe is simply sexual frustration or loneliness while giving you a good time in the process. You don't see that to him it's so much more. But he knows that even if you _did_ see, you'd only pity him, and your love for him would still not grow. It hurts, it hurts. He buries his face in your shoulder in case tears spill and bites down on your fragile skin to help prevent him from sobbing. Fortunately, the pleasure is distracting.

Your whining gets higher and higher in pitch, your hips try to match his erratic rhythm, your hand slips between your bodies to bring yourself closer to the edge, and soon you start chanting his name. He growls and slams into you with all he has, making you scream and clench down hard on his cock, crying out as you ride out your orgasm, and he follows soon after. He comes hard with the satisfaction of making you feel so good, making you need him, making you cry out his name, pumping you full of his cum, it's all so good, it's overwhelming, this is _heaven_.

But of course, after he comes down from his high, he immediately remembers how little this meant to you.

He hurts so, so bad.

“gotta go.” He's tugging his clothes back on and leaves before you can even say goodbye. He regrets not at least saying “thanks for the sex,” but his voice would definitely wobble too much, and that would just be embarrassing.

He just fucked you, had sex with you, made love to you. He should be happy, right?

But here he is crying himself to sleep with double the usual intensity.


	2. I'm not cryin'; it's just been raining... on my face.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extra chapter; Reader's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if this seems rushed it's because I need to get ready for group therapy, where i've previously admitted to being skeleton trash, i'll edit this when i get home lmao
> 
> anyway i figured having reader's perspective would be nice if not necessary.

Committed relationships aren't really your thing. They're great in concept, but in your experience, not in execution. You're tired of people wanting to “own” you or “win” you like a pretty prize, you're self-conscious that people might be getting close to you for no reason but to get in your pants or win a trophy spouse, and you hate the expectations that human society has set for relationships; meet someone you don't hate and like to fuck and make a vow to stay chained together until you die, and apparently that's true love.

Friends are nice and sex is nice. You love your friends. You enjoy sex as an activity. You don't need to belong to anyone.

It's because of this sort of mindset that you're wary of people who might want to “achieve” your devotion. Whether or not someone has good intentions, you are not a game to play and you make that very clear to everyone. You adopt an aloof attitude and make it clear you are not interested. And when people keep trying, disrespecting your boundaries, you cut them out of your life, because you don't need that shit.

The number of impure reasons someone might want to “have” you outweighs any good ones, so why take a chance? You're fine on your own, anyhow. It can only end poorly, so rejecting anyone and everyone's advances is simply the right thing to do.

You've never had to deal with that from a person you already considered close to your heart.

Sans is a good person; you know this for a fact. He's a laid-back guy, friendly and considerate by nature, and has been a comfortable person to hang out with and confide in from the beginning. So when it comes out that he's wanted to date you since you've met, you're horrified. Betrayed.

This means he met you with the intent to “win” you. This means his friendship was a ruse to butter you up. That's what your initial thoughts are in situations like this, and now is no exception, but because you know Sans is a good person and a close friend and someone you _love_ (platonically), your instincts, your logic and emotions, what you think and what you know, they're all conflicting, and it's chaos in your head.

You try to be stone-cold and no-nonsense about it, show him that you won't put up with any bullshit and won't be strung along, but even with your cold tone, you still end up apologizing. You tell yourself you have no reason to apologize, that this is how you've been turning people down for years and it's _always_ protected you, it's _never_ ended in regrets, but there's a feeling deep inside that tells you he doesn't deserve it, and despite how good he is at putting up a facade, it's very, very clear how badly you made him feel.

Your brain feels indifferent – annoyed, even – because you're used to expressions of wounded pride on the people you reject, but your morals give a kick to your heart's metaphorical crotch. You're not quite sure what that means exactly, but it's as poetic as you can get right now and basically what you mean is that in your “soul” you feel you've done something wrong by doing what, in your brain, you thought was “right”.

How the fuck does that make sense??? Why's your mind doing you dirty like this???

It stresses you out. But he says “forget about it”, so you do. You convince yourself to stop worrying about that garbage with the logic of “he realized I'm not interested and now he will move on and we can be friends,” because that's how it usually works out for you.

Apparently he either couldn't get over it or didn't try, because a couple months later, he tries again. Your stomach lurches and your chest feels tight when he does. _I never would have thought he'd be one of those assholes that can't take no for an answer,_ you think. _Does he have something to gain from me? Does he want to hurt me? What did I do to deserve that?_ You have time to let the thoughts swim in your mind, because your response is automatic.

You don't know why saying you “just don't want to” makes him look even _more_ dejected, because it's not that you have a problem with him specifically. You have to force yourself not to think it's because he's disappointed he can't “win” you; hating your closest friend over a misunderstanding would, frankly, be shitty. But it's so hard to fight instinct.

The flirting didn't stop, though. It was getting hard not to a. berate him b. cry c. scream d. all of the above. Fortunately, he stopped before you were pushed to your limit.

Maybe now he can move on and you can be chill again.

But then you caught him staring at you with his pupils shaped like hearts, and you wanted to run. To fight or flee, because you feel like you're being hunted.

You're not an object, not a trophy, not a doll, _not a toy, stop it, go away._

Eventually it did seem to stop, though you hung out a lot less frequently. Usually you saw him while spending time with other friends as a group. It was really awkward. He didn't really talk to you unless you talked to him first. You reached out, though.

It took, what, a year? For him to accept an invitation to hang out again. Everything seemed fine. Although still awkward at first, it was eventually like things never changed, except for the lack of flirting (a plus). Friends again, at last. Finally, he's moved on.

Is what you thought until recently.

Papyrus invited you over “to talk, while making and eating spaghetti." He invited you over to Undyne's, while she wasn't home. Yeah, she said it was okay, but it was still really weird? His house was fine, right?

Papyrus sighed sadly when he placed the pot of water on the stove; just a moment ago he was fine. Uh oh. What did he want to talk about?

“Human, I have concerns regarding my brother.”

“Yeah? What's up?” Sans is cool. You'd like to help. You weren't really expecting what Papyrus told you.

“For the past year, he's become more reclusive than before. And I didn't notice until now, but bringing up your name seemed to make him… flinch? Ever so slightly. I thought maybe it was just his depression, that he was going through a “rough time,” until recently, well…” He pauses and sighs as he dumps the noodles into the now-boiling water and stirs with a vigor that conflicts with his expression. You're continuing with your sauce duty.

“The evening before yesterday, our family was eating dinner together. Sans was seemingly alright, making jokes and eating his food, until I mentioned how you taught Undyne and I what 'stuffed pasta shells' are. He reacted… intensely.”

He seemed to be struggling with what to say next. You couldn't help but want more details.

“How so…?” Papyrus hesitates, then nods.

“It's probably alright to tell you. He, uh, immediately dropped his silverware and made a noise. Then he pushed his chair from the table and hid his face. Toriel took him away to comfort him and wouldn't tell us what was wrong, but I think he was crying.”

…What? Why? You were speechless as Papyrus drained the spaghetti.

“Which is why I wanted to ask you… You didn't hurt him, did you…?” He looks like he really, really wants you to say no, but you know lying would only hurt him.

“I didn't think I did… I thought he was okay.” The spaghetti is finished at this point, but neither of you are very enthusiastic as you fill your plates.

“…Could you maybe talk to him?” Papyrus asks. You're thankful he isn't prying.

“I can try, but could you give me some time? I think I know what he's upset about and… it's a very sensitive topic for me.”

Papyrus seems disappointed. “Please promise you will try to talk to him. Please do not try to avoid it, or lie and say that you will when you won't.”

You promise him. You promise that you will think of what to say and mentally prepare yourself for the touchy subject, and will try to make him feel better.

And weeks later, that's what you tried to do.

You kind of fucked up, though.

What you meant to say was: “I know this is a little awkward to talk about so suddenly, but I'm not particularly interested in romantic relationships or commitment, so I sort of fear dating, and that's why I rejected you so coldly. I still very much like your company. I occasionally have sex with friends, so if that would make you feel better, I would be willing.”

What came out was: “This is going to be really weird, okay? I'm not comfortable with dating, but… I can do sex. Don't have to. Just offering.”

So eloquent, so reassuring, so informative. Not really.

But he agreed, and truthfully, it was a little exciting…

* * *

Initially, your excitement to immediately strip and get right to the action was because you didn't want to drag things out, leave any room for awkward “what now”s, just be bold, lay back and tell him not to hesitate.

As he touched you, though, your excitement… was unfamiliar. His touch was so curious and gentle, and he was in no rush to “take” you. It was different. You always had heated sex with the end goal being to come, but he just wanted to… explore? It wasn't bad, but you wanted a little more, but still, you let him. You're comforting a friend right now.

You lose your patience when he licks your neck. His tongue is so smooth, it feels so nice, but you need more or you'll probably die.

The low rumble of his voice when he tells you to wait makes you shudder. This is so… sensual. It's new. The feeling of a slick magical tongue leaving trails of some kind of weird, tingly ooze on your genitals is also new.

His touch as he pleasures you and prepares you for his cock is tender and slow. Teasing. You can't take this.

“Please fuck me,” you tell him, and he freezes briefly before lining his cock up with your entrance.

He tells you he's fine with stopping and waits for your consent. You feel loved. And very, very impatient. You barely even care when he slides in and pretty much immediately bottoms out. You probably wouldn't have cared if he kept going, although it would have been painful for a moment, but when he was clearly distraught over hurting you, you took time to adjust.

You don't know if it's the magic or if it's him or what, but you're more or less incapacitated by his dick; the feeling is so good, it's unique and you could swear it's making you feel things, like emotionally. You could probably write an essay about it, but you stop thinking for the rest of it, because this feeling is going to end eventually so god damnit you're going to savor it.

You both end up moaning wantonly, soaked in sweat, and god, it's the best time you've ever had in bed, surpassing even sleep. His thrusting is passionate and his cock is throbbing, and he leans down to give you a bite on your shoulder, gentle but still enough to leave a mark. It drives you crazy. You whine harder and harder as you get closer, you move your hips into his, you touch yourself, you try to tell him how close you are but all you can do is say his name; it seems to encourage him, though, because he growls and starts pounding you, and it's too much you grab at whatever you can so you can hold tight and prepare for the fucking sto _ohhh fuck!_

You're loud as you come, _hard_ , and you're exceptionally satisfied when you hear him grunt and fill you up with what must be monster cum, milking his cock with you…

Definitely the best time you've had in bed.

You'd love to enjoy the afterglow, maybe cuddle a bit because friends can cuddle too shut up, but before you know it, he's just… gone.

For some reason, you just… start fucking crying. You don't know why, but you just cry yourself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explanation: you're crying because of a combination of an endorphin crash and the part of you deep, deep inside your soul that loved sans and is hurt that he just left
> 
> or one or the other, you're the reader so it's kinda up to you, but i figured i'd explain why the fuck i decided you gotta cry


	3. resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this what you wanted?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy!
> 
> Readers, are you in there?
> 
> It's me, your best friend:
> 
> F A N F I C U P D A T E

You feel unusually lonely when you wake up the morning after. Your thighs are still slick with viscous magic cum, but it somehow manages to not be uncomfortable. Instead, it makes you feel… happy that it's there, but lonely that it's all that's left of last night.

It's difficult to get yourself out of bed, but you're motivated by the ache in your chest urging you to to ease your loneliness. Sans. You have to text Sans.

Monster sex is something extraordinary. You've never had sex with so much emotion involved. So much passion and care. You also felt connected with Sans on a sort of spiritual level, somehow. You just felt like… sharing the entire experience together let you briefly “become one.”

No one's ever been like this with you. Is this it? Is this how someone who truly loves you treats you? Like the most precious thing on earth, and yet, not like an object or a prize. Not like you're flawless, and yet like your flaws make you so much more lovable.

This is how he's always been. He cares for you and never expects a thing in return. He just does it because he wants to make you happy. He cooked, he bought you gifts that made him think of you, he let you vent whenever you needed and actually gave you advice, and as you think of all this, you remember more things about him.

Sans is a patient and righteous person. He is calm, laid-back, and gives everyone the benefit of the doubt. He's a jokester, but also a selfless person who puts his friends' needs first; he really is an older brother. He's protective without being smothering, but has his fair share of skeletons in the closet and private emotional outbursts.

Oh, god. When was the last time you let _him_ vent to _you_ anyhow? He couldn't, you pushed him away when all he wanted was to be close to you. You let your personal demons interfere with your friendship. You've been a bad friend.

As you sit on the side of your bed, staring blankly at your phone, you wonder if you should give him a chance.

Because now when you think of him, what comes to mind is not “silly cool monster friend” or “predator.” When you think of him now, you see a caring and loving person that wants the best for you, and nothing more than to love you. Someone who supports you and might benefit from some support from you as well.

You think you might be able to reciprocate his love and support with time.

* * *

Sans dreamt of soft, fleshy arms holding his skeletal body close and tight in a loving and comfortable embrace.

He felt cold and alone when he woke up.

Anxiety shook his bones when he remembered what happened the night before. That night… so beautiful and magical, but somehow agonizing at the same time. Why did he have to agree to that? Now he'll never get over you.

Papyrus, as usual, knocks on his door to wake him, but he's been extremely gentle lately. Instead of knocks that could put holes in the door and exclamations of “RISE AND SHINE, LAZYBONES,” the knocking and his voice were just loud enough to wake him.

“Sans? It's time to wake up now. Let's do our best today!”  
Oh, Papyrus. Sans didn't think he deserved a brother so sweet and loving. “i'll be out later.”

“Okay! That's wonderful! See you after work!” Papyrus sounded genuinely excited. Has Sans really been spending so much time away from his family?

He didn't even realize. Days just fly by when you're wallowing in self-pity, but he does kind of just… appear at work then appear back in his room. His door was always closed.  
…He truly is pathetic. But why cry about it when you can _do_ something about it?

You're his first love, but that doesn't mean he won't find anyone else. He'd be perfectly happy caring for you as a friend. He can get over you with time, and he's going to start that today!

Then he hears his phone alert him of a new text, and his bones feel like they could fall apart from the anxiety.  
He doesn't want to check. He doesn't want you to call him out for fucking and leaving. Oh shit, he probably made it seem like that was all he wanted from you. He has to fix that. He _has_ to reply.

He gets out of bed in record time to get his phone, and sure enough, the text is from you, with a very valid question.

[Why did you leave so soon last night?]

[sorry. remembered i had stuff to do in the mornin]

He brought his phone back to bed. Surprisingly, your reply was quick.

[You regretted it didn't you? Don't lie.]

He didn't expect that. Not only did you realize his regret, but for some reason you care about it.

[you dont exactly make me wanna tell ya the truth nowadays]

Okay, maybe he was a little bit bitter. Maybe he was a _tiny_ bit bitter that you had the nerve to treat him so coldly after he opened up to you and treated you with love and respect. Treat him with the same disgust that monsterphobes would, all over a stupid date that you could have just said “No, thanks” to.

[I know. I'm so sorry. I didn't realize I was being so hurtful.]

He remembers why he fell in love with you now.

You're not heartless, just oblivious. You're actually very caring for your friends and own up to your behavior when you're called out for it.

He's done his fair share of telling you to “cut it out” when you've provoked people or accidentally hurt their feelings. He knows you're not perfect and need some help. After all, what good would it do either of you for him to be so head over heels that he can't understand you're a person?

[tell me why you did it.]

He waits patiently for your reply. He's nothing if not patient. But he still feels something heavy in the pit of the stomach he doesn't even have. How is it possible for a skeleton to feel sick to their stomach, anyway?  
He relaxes as best he can, though.

Even if he messes up today, he'll eventually have another shot, right? Right. There's no need to worry.

Just as he's about to doze off, his phone goes off and he grabs it with lightning reflexes he hasn't used in ages.

[I thought you wanted to use me. I thought our friendship was a lie because you always wanted to date me. I honestly still don't really feel comfortable with you thinking of me that way, but you've always been a great friend to me and you didn't deserve that treatment and I'm sorry. I should have just told you.]

Yes, you should have.

But now it makes sense.

[you're special to me, you know? romantically and not. it took time for my feelings for you to develop. i never even knew i *could* fall in love. that being said i dont want you to think of me that way anymore, so i'll try to get over it.]

There. Vague enough that he doesn't have to explain the time anomaly, detailed enough that you know his intentions weren't completely selfish.

[You don't have to. *I* want to try to get over it. I want to try being in love for once. I know I don't really deserve it, but can I have a chance?]

Sans actually teared up. He was still dreaming, wasn't he?  
You may have been right. You might not have deserved a chance after all he's been put through when you could have said all this from the beginning.

But what other answer could he give?

[of course.]

* * *

He proved it to you, that you really were more than just a prize to him.

He took you on a nice, comfortable date at Grillby's, and it ended up being no different than when you usually eat together, and it was so good to be on a date that wasn't really “a big deal.” The only real difference is that, well, he did have you go into more detail about your aversion to dating. And you had him explain his feelings for you in more detail, which he promised to do when you weren't in public.

The night you'd had sex, that strange cocktail of emotion you felt during the act had been his soul. He truly had been making love to you. Meanwhile he felt yours, and when he felt no emotional attachment, he couldn't keep his cool. That's why he left. It also explains why you cried so much when he left; maybe it was the weird soul-empathy.  
That night was truly the most intimate he's ever been and ever wanted to be with someone. At his explanation, you suddenly felt like maybe you'd used him, but he stopped you when you tried to apologize.  
“i knew what i was getting into. 's not your fault. you just tried to help me the only way you could think of. i 'ppreciate that.” He gives you a gentle smile as he says this and, for possibly the first time ever, makes you blush.

Eventually, it turns out falling in love with Sans was not as difficult as you'd have expected it to be. Several weeks into dating and you realize you've never been happier on dates, never been so flattered by genuine compliments, and never been loved the way he loves you.

“I think I love you,” you say suddenly as you realize this. He chokes on his popcorn; you guys were in the middle of some cartoon marathon.

You tell your friends you love them on occasion, but you both know the different meaning behind this time.

He turns off the TV as he finishes coughing. “what? do you even… have you… _what?_ ”

“You don't need to say anything. I just realized I think I might love you.”

He stares at you. His expression, at first, is screwed up in bewilderment. Then it softens to something you think you recognize as awe, before a genuine, happy smile forms, and then he starts to laugh.

“…Why are you laughing?”

He takes a moment to calm down, and it's your turn to be confused.

“sorry, sorry. i just… you're cute. i think i love you too, nerd.”

He turns the TV back on, but neither of you pay attention. You snuggle close to each other, and enjoy each other's company.

* * *

Your expressions as you undress for each other are not of lust and greed, but of adoration and desire.

Well, maybe a little bit of lust and greed too. But there's a significant difference from last time.

It's been a while since you two last had sex. You'd taken it very slow, but you've always looked forward to this. Sans has, too, being eager to share a “proper” intimate experience with you; the last one was a little… you know. Bittersweet.

There's no hesitance as you explore each other this time. It's pure wonder and curiosity. He's surprised and even nervous when you ask to touch his body, but he hides it with a ridiculous pose as he lies back and winks.  
You hook your fingers between his ribs. You rub his sternum. You lick, you kiss, you brush. You find yourself loving how unique and just how _Sans_ he is, and he finds himself breathless.

His erogenous zones seem to be the lower ribs, the inner sternum, and the majority of his pelvis. You pay lots of special attention to these areas as he whispers curses and encouragement. Eventually, his voice pitches higher, he repeats “please” and your name like he's begging you for his life, and he grips the sheets so hard he could tear them.  
You didn't know you could make anyone, much less a skeleton, come without genitals until now.

His cries are blissful and hoarse, and fairly loud although you can tell he's trying to keep himself quiet. The poor guy's bones quiver until he finishes and slumps back onto the bed. You haven't come yet, but making someone you love feel so good is incredibly satisfying.

Sans struggles to catch his breath, and barely manages to push himself back up into a sitting position. He has no idea how he can properly fuck you in this state, but he doesn't need to say anything.

“We can stop if you're tired. I'm already happy.”

“no. no, you have to feel good too. i need to make you feel good too.”

You end up on your side with two hard fingers frantically pistoning in and out of you and his other hand stimulating you externally, crying out as he grunts in your ear, taking satisfaction in how he can make you come undone.

“you gonna come for me? come on, love, just let go.”

You do, and scream as you see stars. You apparently black out for a moment, because when you come to, you're lying beside Sans, looking into his heart-shaped pupils.  
A while back, those eyes made you want to run away. Now, seeing them makes you never want to leave his side.

You snuggle close to him and start to fall asleep, until you're awoken by a choked sob.

“Sans?” You sit up, suddenly alert, as you cup his face and look at him. He tries to look away. “What's wrong?”

“nothing,” he sobs again, hugging you and making you lay back down with him. “i'm happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop there you go. hope it was good enough, sorry to make you all wait so long ;o; i know it moves a lil fast but i cannot do slow burns. love reading em, could probably collab them, cannot write them for shit. i decided it's ending and it's ending in one chapter, not 5.  
> so yeah, fairly happy ending. i had a *lot* of ending ideas: reader never gets over their aversion and their friendship becomes ruined, sans and reader become friends with benefits, sans and reader have a dramatic breakup, sans and reader have a peaceful breakup and remain friends, reader is truly aromantic/is simply not romantically interested in sans, the timeline resets, sans gets over reader, you name it
> 
> hell, i considered making a choose-your-own-ending chapter, but i just decided 1. you can't please everyone 2. there's no way i could write all those endings and have them all flow well with the rest of the story and not be rushed.  
> if you want to write your own alternate ending please do!
> 
> but in case you want a bad end: everything resets and sans is unable to enjoy life or have meaningful relationships, the end.

**Author's Note:**

> if you read any of my other stuff you'll notice pretty quickly that all my writing involves lots of passion and undying love and romance and heartache and passion, definitely passion, passionate love, and heartache
> 
> and desperation
> 
> every kind of desperation


End file.
